


Dimming Lights

by APHTrashbin (verfens)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Post World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfens/pseuds/APHTrashbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Long Century, the Great War shook the ground society stood on, and tore relationships apart. This is the story of those who were broken in the rising tide of the 21st century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fool's Gold

Many would consider Mr. Kirkland to be an old soul, one they could turn their heads to when they had entered the war now more than ten years ago.  They were right in some aspects- he was damn old, but he wasn’t always the best person to look to when in troubled times.

Currently, Arthur was slumped over the counter of a pub, and his oldest friend was coming to pick him up, shaking his head.  “Mon ami, for the leader of the League of Nations, you are looking pretty stupid.”  Britain whacked his hand away. 

“S’ my fault he did it again.”  He was moping. “Asshole left me again.”

“Yes, it’s your fault.  He was being polite, while you did everything in your power to be an ass.”  France agreed, wrapping his arms around the other’s chest, and heaving him up with a grunt.  “Now, to your feet.  The meeting is supposed to start soon.  We had things like this all the time in the last century, but our bosses want this to be more formal than just talking about the state of affairs.”

“The League is pointless without its creator.”  Britain reminded him.  “And we chopped up his plan to bitsss….”  His head dropped down again.  “I tore it up in his face once the Germans surrendered to the terms.”

“Yes, we can both agree you are a terrible person, but as of right now, you are also drunk.  And you have a meeting in three hours.”  France sighed, forcing Arthur to keep walking.  “Honestly though, what’s the real problem.  Just the other day you were saying it was better without him, and his “silly isolationist ways”.  Care to explain?”

“It’s going to happen again.”  Britain said, shaking his head.  “It will all happen again.  Germany will rise again.” 

France paled.  “But we did so much to him- is it even possible?”

“You know what’s possible when Gilbert has his mind set on something. “  England moped, shaking his head.  “Anything.”  No sooner had he answered himself then his consciousness was lost, and France was left holding a dangling man. 

He sighed, shaking his head.

XXXX

The meeting only had those who had sided with them.  In a twisted move, Gilbert and his brother were kept out of the new system.  Not only was it them going “nenernenernener!”, but it was also a formal creation of sides.  By keeping them out, they had effectively cut them off. 

This would be detrimental in the future.  And England knew it. 

He had woken up only an hour before the meeting, and was showered and dressed again.  He sighed.  “Well, that was bloody awful of me.”  He had moped- in public- about America’s decision to back out of what he created, the League of Nations. 

America had been the reason Germany had surrendered in the first place.  What would they do if Germany started his war economy again?  They could do nothing!   They were all in a big amount of trouble.

And then there was Russia, or, Soviet Union as they called him now.  Recently reestablished, after all.  The Reds had finally gotten a nation on their side.  What an astonishing thing.  He had figured something was up with him, when he stopped showing up at White meetings.  But to join the other side? 

It was disastrous.  And Germany might not be enough to stop him if he decided to take over Europe. 

That had been England’s prerogative when they wrote the treaty of Versailles.  Make sure that there was a border between France and Russia, while still making him pay.  He hadn’t wanted to utterly destroy him, just weaken him.  Well, a lot.  He couldn’t say he wasn’t angry at the younger nation, because he most certainly had been- and still was.  But there were more important things at hand then petty revenge.  He could get that over the course of time.  But….

It had been France that had really wanted to destroy him.  And he had done a very good job at that, with how brutal the treaty was. 

Now, with Germany, Prussia and their allies hating them, and with Russia looking awfully fierce, discussing how England and France were enemies of the worker and that communist bullock, he wasn’t so sure of the end of the Great War.  In fact, after what his old boss had said about the whole thing, he was sure it _wasn’t_ over.

France came into the room again.  “You’re looking dashing, for an Englishman.”  He teased without heat, and Britain knew that he wasn’t trying to get to him. 

“Shut it, frog.  Are you prepared to run this?”  He asked seriously, not exactly trusting in how well Francis was prepared.

“I have been for a while.  What are you going to talk about?”

“The old war of course, and preparations for what is to come,” Britain grimaced. 

“For what?  The war is over.”  France frowned.

“I can guarantee that this isn’t over yet.  Not even close, old boy.”  England told him, and got out a cigar.  “Not even close.”


	2. Meteorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just keep dancing little boy. Keep on dancing until you crash down.”

He was actually quite the dancer. “My, aren’t you good.” His partner winked at him, and Alfred Jones smiled like a fool. He knew he was also quite the looker.

“I had to get the worst dancing lessons as a kid! This is so much nicer than a waltz, if a little harder!” He laughed, and she chuckled coyly, as they took one another’s hands and danced the night away. He was used to charming his citizens, male or female, and she was no different, hopping along with him and stepping wildly, yet completely in control. 

The sounds of the band were overwhelmingly loud, yet he didn’t mind it at all, loving how wild it sounded. 

He loved his nation, flying high after the war. America now understood what Britain had meant by “War economy”. It was like a booster! And now he had the money to go back and help Germany, where Britain and France had put the poor kid into debt up over his ears. 

Speaking of Britain, the fucker was going to be coming over soon. As the next song ended, he bowed to his partner, kissing her hand tenderly as she giggled. “My, what a gentleman.” She swooned, as he waved her off with a smile. 

“I gotta go- an acquaintance of mine requires a meeting with me.” She nodded, and sashayed off, while he grumbled, “I mean coworker at best. He’s been such an ass.”   
He had torn his treaty up into tiny little pieces, only commenting that he was a terrible dreamer, and always had been. “Only fought for a year? Then you get no say, little boy.” 

Britain was awfully mean for a guy currently in a shitty ass economy. Fixing his tie, he started to walk back to the headquarters of foreign affairs, to meet up with the limey man, and read up on his letters to other nations. 

His last letter from Prussia had been sympathetic, with a bit of understanding, but also a good deal of asking him, “Where is the money you promised me?” Alfred felt for him, the kind man had taken the fall for his little brother more than once. But, he was still working on it, and his congress was being an ass. Meanwhile, Hoover wasn’t doing much for the vets or the farmers. So Alfred didn’t like him much either. 

XXXXX

As he waltzed into the building, he ordered his secretary for a thing of coffee, wanting to annoy him just a bit more. Either way, he was doing just fine, so he didn’t need emergency help like Europe did right now. Alfred took his coffee, smirking as he saw Arthur waiting for him, leaning against the wall with a frown inset on his face. “Old man, there you are! I knew I’d see you, even if you didn’t send me a letter in advance. But yanno? Whatever.” He shrugged. “It’s not rude or anything to come unannounced to the nation, so long as you tell the office ahead of time.”

Britain didn’t smile. If anything, the frown deepened. “America, you’re acting like a child. Don’t pretend as though because we are allies now, we have anything special.” He scoffed, and Alfred had to grit his teeth. 

“I would have hoped we’d be over this issue now, but it appears some can’t let go of a grudge. I’m a new guy. A lot more fun to be around, if you’d bother to try and get to know the new me.” Britain rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not here for your pleasantries, America. I’m here for your wallet.” He was very matter of fact. “We need money to repair Britain, and you’re doing pretty damned well right now.”

“Feh, I’ve already been sending you help. It’s going the rate it’s going. Maybe if you had used my treaty…” He taunted, blue eyes frosty, “we’d be in a better state all over the world. But yanno? Revenge was also a completely viable path.”

Britain gave him an icy look back, seething. “Boy, you don’t know what you’re even talking about. You know what? I’m leaving. I don’t need to be here.” America rolled his eyes. 

Naturally, he threw a fit when the ugly truth was pointed out. “Go back to your silly dancing.” He growled. “Looks more like a seizure than a dance. I thought I taught you better.” He huffed. 

America tensed. “I’m not a child anymore.” He glared at the older nation. 

“Why are you so foolish then? Did you really think I was here for you? Or for your silly dancing?” Britain had found his newest thing to tease. “Just keep dancing little boy. Keep on dancing until you crash down. I don’t have to be a part of it, so good day.” He tipped his hat mockingly, and strode out of the room, nose in the air. 

America sat down, forlorn, and sipped his coffee. “Why are you so damned difficult?” He asked a Britain that was no longer there. 

XXXXX

Much as to England’s prediction, he would crash- and burn. In 1929 the stock market crashed. But, he still danced, danced to forget his worries. 

But two years later, he woke up one morning, and could no longer see.

America screamed in terror and agony. 

The Dirty Thirties had begun.


	3. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Case of Prussia: "It was the dream of a great man for me to become as great as I could be."

Even the act of moving was searing agony now.

"Fuck you, Arthur." Gilbert had woken up in the early hours of the morning, body soaked with a cold sweat. He had been startled from his nightmare and now his middle, sides, and limbs were burning in response to the sudden movement of him jerking awake. He grumbled, and didn't particularly want to get up, not when he knew that he was only going to further aggravate his broken body, and burn energy his ridiculous rations could never even hope to replenish. Even though he knew that people needed taking care of and his stomach would only growl more if he ignored it. He knew he was a nation, but come the hell on- nations still needed to eat, just as much as humans did. He was willing to fast, but his brother was unused to being starved as he was. So he had been getting most of the rations in the house. But he digressed- he couldn't do anything about it..

In the wake of the grudge match that had been the Great War, Prussia and Germany and their allies had been half dead, when Arthur and Francis- backed by Alfred's army- had given his young inexperienced brother a  _dictat-_ give into whatever terms they wished upon or, naturally, be invaded and demolished further. There hadn't been much of a choice, and now they were like a horse being told to gee-up when its feet weren't even touching the ground. But, what could they do? While neither Arthur nor Francis really had the force to make them keep to the treaty, Alfred certainly had that power. That power and more.

That's why they agreed.

Oh boy, what hellish terms they were. It was like an old bar fight, with Alfred coming in at the end and punching Ludwig through a wall, before a very smug looking black-eyed Francis decided to raid their wallet, and put the damages of the fight on their tabs.

Prussia was in bed for another few minutes, before he felt as though he would go stir crazy if he didn't get up and move. So, grunting, he forced himself up. He hissed as he cracked his back. When he was up onto his feet, he shuffled into the living room, hands holding him up using a wall. He smacked Roderich from where he slept on the couch. "Get up- I can't help all your ungrateful asses myself." But, he didn't get up. He didn't even stir, and Gilbert let out a very hearty curse. "Oh no, you fucker. Did you go and get yourself sick again?" He felt his forehead, and his insides felt like they melted. He shuffled to the kitchen, and gathered their rations, checking Hungary and Germany both. If they were sick….why wasn't he?

He skipped breakfast to ensure they kept up their strength, feeding them all by hand.

XXXXX

In the end, it didn't matter. They dropped like flies only hours later. He ended the whole fiasco by putting blankets over their corpses, waiting for them to revive. He placed it over his brother's slack face- the only time he ever looked relaxed was in death, and even then, he still looked a bit tense with the crease in his brow. It sickened him to even look at his brother's still face, even though he looked like he was just relaxed a bit.

Damn, he needed a smoke.

He went through his stash, and lit the cigar, taking in deep drags. This was going to cost him later, but he had just watched his brother's fever induced death, likely splattered with hallucinations and he didn't have him by his side. He hadn't wanted his brother to die painfully, ever. That's why he hadn't let him out on the war front until the ending years, when he hadn't been strong enough to keep on going. Gilbert sighed again, and started to speak aloud now that no one was there to hear him being weak.

"I wonder what Bismarck would think of me now?" Gilbert mused. "I just lost one hell of a war, and Germany's been sliced up like a goose on Christmas. Let alone the debt…the restrictions….or the treaty….." He shook his head. " _Realpolitik_ was a French word originally,  _raison d'eta_ t, so why did Francis make such a cruel term for us? We didn't even start it, only joined in. This was just a game of revenge for him, wasn't it?" Gilbert rubbed the nape of his neck, and leaned back. "He certainly doesn't practice what he preached."

"What about the fact I don't have control over you?" He looked towards his brother again. "That was his dream, you know. He wanted a Germany united under the mighty Hohenzollern crown. But…." He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm dying. I won't die, not yet, but….I can feel your people as a people that are no longer mine. You are entirely separate. I'm guessing that would make him angrier than anything else.  _Gilbert, I told you not to fuck this up!_ " He laughed, "Kesesese, I can even hear him /now/. He's going to pull my ears all the way to the seventh layer of hell for this one."

Gilbert closed his eyes. "Don't think I'm scared or anything. I don't regret a single decision I made. Maybe losing Bismarck, then perhaps this whole war wouldn't have happened. But, I don't regret you. I love you, Lutz. Now wake up and avenge me!" He joked, waving the cigar. He took another drag. "Not really, of course- I couldn't ask you to do that."

"It was the dream of a great man for me to become as great as I could be." He said, very coolly, as he looked to Ludwig and felt every one of his years crush him down, while he took his cold hand and squeezed it. "I don't actually consider myself a great man, not someone that can change the course of Europe like he could, but….It's my dream for you to be as great as you can be, and I'll protect you from the bad things in life until the end. I hope I can accomplish it."

As a harsh knocking came from his door, he stood and threw the cigar to the ground. The Allied guards were here to check on him. He shuffled to the door, and opened it to the soldiers outside, in the dim lights of sunset. 


End file.
